


You've Been Fighting For Far Too Long

by LSims



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSims/pseuds/LSims
Summary: At 20 years old, Donny Novitski joined the National Guard. That same year, a viral epidemic sweeps the globe. It ravishes the body, leaving its victims dead within a matter of hours. Worse yet, those dead started to wake, overcome with a craving for flesh. Within a matter of months, nearly half the world is either dead or rising, and the rest are fighting to get by. And Donny? Donny is surviving.But now he's found New Cleveland, a thriving community that's managed to stay safe. Donny now must adjust to living like the world was before, and along the way will discover friends, love, trials, and triumphs.
Relationships: Donny Novitski/Julia Trojan, Julia Trojan/Michael Trojan
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

_It’ll be just like it was before._

The words rang in Donny’s ears as he stood, panting, after taking out another herd. Before you know it! The newscasters, politicians, every damn person had repeated it, as if if you said it enough times, it’d be true.

_Any bad news you can just ignore._

Donny scoffed as he recalled that line. Ignore it, they said, as if you could ignore the dead rising, the cities crumbling within three months.

Well, they could take their illusions. The world ended, and they could pretend otherwise. Not Donny, though.

Donny was gonna survive.

He panted again before taking his canteen out from his pocket and starting to drink. Only then, when nothing hit his parched tongue, he remembered he’d already drained it this morning. Shit.

Donny walked over to the shade of a lone tree and leaned against it. _It’ll be just like it was_. He suddenly scrambled for his knife and stumbled back as the zombie entered his peripherals. It’d gotten close, nearly too close. He drove the knife into its brain and suddenly gasped, stumbling again in horror. _Michael—_

_It was right before the collapse. They’d been in the Guard, stationed protecting a hospital on its last stand. It was the largest herd they’d seen. Must’ve been a hundred at least. They plowed them down, but they kept coming. He saw them get swallowed in and torn apart. Garrett, Martinez, Rico. Donny and Michael looked at each other. We have to go, he said. Donny rain, heart hammering in his chest as his feet beat into the pavement. His heart was loud enough to block out the screams as the dead broke through the doors. He’d found a trench and dove in, waiting. It felt like he waited for years. It started to rain. Finally, it was quiet. Clutching his gun like a life raft, Donny ran._

_“Michael?” He called out, his voice hoarse from earlier yelling. “Michael!” After yet another eternity he saw him, stumbling towards him. But it wasn’t—_

“Damn it, Novitski, it’s not real!” He screamed, snapping back to his senses. It wasn’t Michael on the other end of his knife. It couldn’t be.

He yanked it out of the brunet, not-Michael zombie, and sheathed it, not bothering to clean the blood. Maybe he shouldn’t blame people for wanting to believe, he thought. After all, he’s chasing an illusion too.

_New Cleaveland_. He’d heard it on the radio, right before he lost signal. _A piece of paradise, a sense of normalcy_. The voice had said. Donny figured he was walking into a slaughter. He didn’t care. At least it’d be quick, he hoped.

He looked down at the directions he’d written on a piece of scrap paper. _Take a left on Euclid Ave, head north on Ontario st, and turn left onto w Superior_. It was supposed to be in the Warehouse District. Made sense. They were sturdy buildings, tall, and right by the Cuyahoga. _If it was real_.

Donny made his turn on West Superior and gasped. _He could see it_. The wall loomed over him, at least 50 feet. It looked like someone had recently made an effort to solidify it with cement block pillars that’d been cemented together. There was a gate too, that looked heavy and solid. There seemed to be a couple of lookouts on a crane bucket right by the gate. They hadn’t spotted him yet. He held his breath, not letting himself let his guard down. Shouldering his rifle, he approached.

“STOP!” Donny heard a voice yell. He stopped and looked up, where a guy was trying to stop another from pointing his rifle down towards Donny.

“That’s not a zombie dumbass, it’s walking upright.”

“Sorry!” The other one said. “It’s hard to tell from up here.”

The first guy sighed and pointed _his_ gun towards Donny. “Drop your weapons and put your hands above your head!”

Donny obliged, placing his rifle, handgun, and knife on the ground in front of him and raising hands in surrender.

“What’s your business here?” The guy with the rifle asked.

“I heard about you on the radio,” Donny called up. “I came to find a safe haven if it exists.” The guys in the crane looked at each other and nodded, and the one with the rifle started to climb down.

“He’s getting our leader, Al.” The other said. “You can put your arms down, but leave your weapons, please.”

“Okay.”

“Where’re ya from?” Crane guy asked.

“Uh, here, originally, but, I move— _moved_ around a lot. I think the last place I was was Upper Sandusky.”

“Really? What’s it like there?”

“Same as everything else. Crawling with zombies and falling to shit.”

“Ah.”

Suddenly the gate screeched open and a man walked out to meet Donny. He had a brown hat, a navy suit, red tie, and a bright smile.

_He’s not gonna make me come in?_ Donny thought. Sure, he wasn’t gonna try anything, but still, the lack of security scared him.

“Hey, kid. I’m Al Connors, leader of this lovely community.”

“Well, uh, thank you,” Donny replied, shaking Al’s hand. “I’m Private Donald Novitski.”

“A soldier, eh? We’ve got a lot of you. You’ll settle down soon, don’t worry. Why don’t you come on in and I’ll show you around?”

“Sure,” Donny answered, reaching for his weapons.

“Don’t worry about those, soldier,” Al said. “Jackson here’ll take them to the armory for ya.”

“Alright.” Donny obliged, making a note to try and grab his handgun later on. He didn’t trust these people.

Al, who’d apparently been a bar owner before the collapse, led him around. The community was set up in a bunch of old warehouses, with bars and other communal spaces on the main floors, and living quarters on the upper floors. They’d set up gardens in a few of the open fields, and had managed to set up a sort of irrigation system from the river. It was impressive, Donny had to admit, but still, he didn’t trust it.

“Well, here we are!” Al chirped as they stopped in front of a large brick building. A man stepped out to greet them.

“Hiya son. I’m Oliver Plath. Welcome to New Cleveland! You’re lucky, you caught the last open apartment! Let me show ya around.”

The next few weeks were filled with meeting people and engaging in communal activities. It seemed everyone was expected to act like there was nothing wrong outside their walls. It drove Donny insane. But he soon found out he had something to look forward to.

Al had everyone gathered in the Church for an announcement. “Attention, folks. Andre and I have been talking, and we decided it’d be swell if we put together a community band. And not just put one together, no, we’re holdin’ a contest! We’ll have you all form bands, and whoever wins will hold the title of community band!”

Donny’s gears spun. They’d described him to a tee! He’d was an accordion genius, playing weddings at seven years old. He was hoping to form a band with Michael after a couple of years in the army, and now he had his chance! And he needed a distraction. He’d spent the last four years living through hell and battling insomnia. As he scanned his fellow contesters, he smirked.

Donny Novitski was ready to rise.


	2. Chapter 2

Donny stood outside  _ The Blue Wisp _ , a small, homey bar that had been here since before the collapse. He was anxious to enter and talk to the guy that apparently played there— Jimmy—he thought. 

Finally, he couldn’t wait and burst in, searching for the supposed sax player. He spotted him, a tall, slightly muscular black man. Donny approached. “Hiya! I’m looking for Jimmy Campbell.”

The man barely acknowledged him. “We’re not open.”

“Yeah, well, the door is.” Donny quipped. “Didya used to play with a guy who went by the name of Rubber?”

Jimmy looked at him. “The drummer?”

“That’s the one.”

“Uh, maybe a few gigs out of high school—”

“And you went into psychology?” Donny cut him off, sliding onto the piano.

“Med school. What is this? My pianist will be here any second—”

“I was Nat’ Guard. Seventy-Third Joint task Force. Rubber said you’re good.”

“Listen, I’m not trying to be rude, but—”

“And you can really play?”

“If you wait in line like everyone else you’ll find out—”

“Show me.”

Jimmy looked at the man in front of him and scoffed. 

“You know “Tell Me Tonight?” Donny prodded.

A small bark of laughter. “What are you smoking?”

“What, you don’t know “Tell Me Tonight?”

Jimmy huffed and pulled out his saxophone, easily riffing the song’s melody and Donny played along.

“My name’s Donny. I’m thinking of starting a band, for that contest Al was talkin’ about.”

“I’m working on setting up a medical training facility, so my time is—”

“We’ll make it work.”

“I suppose you’ll be the bandleader?” Jimmy asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Naturally.”

Jimmy snorted. “Is Rubber on drums?”

The mood in the room changed as Donny paused, frozen over the piano. “He didn’t make it.” He forced out.

“Aww, jeez.” 

Donny took a breath. “Look, you know any other guys, who can play, good looking like us?”

“It’s the end of the world, what does it matter?”

“Eh, guess you’re right. Anyway, you know any?”

Jimmy looked at him and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I know a guy. He kicks it on bass, plays at Oliver’s’. He’s better than anyone when he’s not high.”

Donny sighed. “Jesus.” 

“Good looking too,” Jimmy added with a smirk. “Has a killer beard.”

Donny gave a small laugh. “I’ll take my chances.”

Jimmy shook his hand. “Then yeah, I know a guy. Meet me at the lab tomorrow night.”

“You guys have a working lab?”

“No, it’s just his drinking spot.”

“We’re ready to open, Jimmy.” A woman—Jo, Donny had seen her regularly patrolling the wall—said.

“Let ‘em all in,” Jimmy replied.

The lab, was, indeed, just a drinking spot. A heavyset, bearded man was sat at a table, chugging what looked to be his third beer bottle, laughing with a few other guys.

“Here’s another one!” He says, voice carrying all across the room. “A pirate walks into a bar with his ship’s steering wheel on the front of his pants. The bartender says ‘Captain, ya got a steering wheel stuck to your crotch.’ The pirate says ‘Aaargh, it’s drivin’ me nuts!’”

The men roared with laughter and Donny let out a small chuckle. Jimmy rolled his eyes and led Donny forward. The bearded man—Davy, presumably—looked up, spotted Jimmy, and grinned. 

“Jimmy!! You skinny son of a bitch. ‘What wind blew you hither?’”

“This is Donny Novitski, the new guy in town. Donny, meet Davy Zlatic. Donny here made it through the Guard’s Last Stand.”

“‘I’ll tickle your catastrophe.’” Davy said, “I was at the last CIA briefing.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. Jimmy told me about your band idea. I asked around about you.” He turned to his friends. “So my cousin marries some Pole and it turns out  _ this _ guy played accordion at her wedding when he was like ten years old.” 

Donny straightened his back. “You know the difference between an accordion and Hitler?”

Davy grinned at him. “Nope.”

“One perpetrated years of oppression and humiliation on the Polish people. And the other’s Hitler.”

Davy wheezed. “‘I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men!”

Donny stared at the man blankly. “I have...no idea you’re saying, but I hope that means you’re in.”

“It’s Shakespeare.” Jimmy clarified. “And yeah, that means he’s in.”

“Great! Now, all we need are a couple of horns and a monster on drums.”

“I know a guy, his trumpet is hot. Ain’t a barrel of laughs though. But maybe the two of us can break him?”

“Let’s do it.” Donny agreed, shaking Davy’s hand. 

Davy shook it back. “Then get your jokes ready, cause I know a guy!”

The next day they walked over to a building a block down and entered the lobby, where a skinny guy with greased back brown hair, rimmed glasses, and a scowl was bent over a kid and a textbook. 

“Take it again from step four.” He says, rather gruffly.

The kid mutters to himself, erases something, and lets out a small whine. 

“Stop.” The man snapped.

The kid ignored him.

“For the love of God, stop! What is that number there?”

“F-five.” The kid stuttered out. 

“Then why are you adding fifteen! 15 is the number you’re adding  _ to _ !”

“I-I-I’m trying my b-best Mr. Radel!” 

“I know, heartbreaking, isn’t it? I’ll see you next week. Ask your dad if he’ll go on a raid and find you some glasses, maybe that’ll help.”

The kid grabbed his textbook and ran off, as Donny and Davy approach. 

“Jeez Nick, you tryin’ for Teacher of the Year? Davy quipped.

Nick laughed. “Yup.”

Davy gestured to Donny. “This is the guy who thinks we belong in a band together.” 

“Who else is on trumpet?” Nick asked. “I’m not playing second.”

“No one,” Donny answered. “We need a trombone though.”

“And a drummer,” Davy added. 

“I know a guy, former scientist. He blows like a champ. Bug up his ass, but I’d say worth a try. ‘Cause if you want perfect, then I know a guy.”

_ Is this really happening _ ? Donny wondered.  _ I think it is _ !

Wayne Wright did indeed have a bug up his ass. He polished the trombone with white knuckles as they talked. 

“I know a guy, but he’s kind of a mess. Made it here in one piece, at least. A genius at drums, but brain matter shy. But man, you want rhythm? Then I know a guy.”

Donny grinned as they made plans for rehearsals. It really  _ was  _ happening. Just like Michael wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CIA breifings are a thing, right?


	3. Chapter 3

Donny was sweating throughout the entire gig, but he was smiling too. 

They were back at  _ The Whisp _ , and, judging by the few glances he sneaked at the crowd in front of him, he was doing something right. 

“ _ I know a guy you’d never guess would be a hero, _ ” he sings, fingers smashing the keys like they were the dead. “ _ Just some mellow, av’rage fellow _ !” 

He and the Wayne guy got pretty heated debating what to play. Donny wanted his own works, Wayne wanted common tunes. He’s not proud of his temper, but he  _ is  _ proud he won.

“ _ And after such a victory, find us gladly bragging a bit out loud! The boys are back, and ain’t we proud! _ ” Jimmy, Nick, and Wayne play solos, and they repeat the chorus, and before he knew it, the gig is over, and he’s panting over the piano as the crowd applauded.

Johnny approached him as the band packed up their instruments. “Boy am I glad I decided to play with you guys.”

“Best decision of your life?” Donny quipped, putting away his sheet music.

“No, that was holdin’ onto the steering while my Jeep was flippin’ three times.” The other man answered honestly. “Three times, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Three times, huh?” Donny asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, after the herd tipped us, three flips and three operations on my back. How about that?”

“That’s—that’s something,” Donny answered, unsure of what else to say.

“That reminds me,” Johnny started, “time to take my pain pill, always  _ after  _ the gig, ‘cause they slow me down.”

“How much slower do you get?” Davy joked, approaching Donny. “What, do they put you in reverse?”

Johnny laughs, and Davy turns to Donny. “You write a catchy tune, Novitski.”

“Enough to win a contest?” Nick asked from across the room. Donny glared at him.

“I’ve got more where that came from. And hey hotshot, next time you play a solo, get off the ceiling once in and while. It’s all one color: selfish.”

Nick glared right back. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but it’s a solo, it’s selfish by definition!”

“It’s outa line.”

“I can play with Dwight Anson, he’s doin’ the contest.”

Donny balked. “Dwight Anson? You survive a military containment zone just to play with a douche like Dwight Anson?”

“There’s a fine line between jazz and  _ bad _ ,” Johnny added, to no one in particular.

“I’m just sayin’, you all need to play on  _ my  _ groove.” Donny snapped. 

“If it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage,” Wayne said, heading for the door.

Donny huffed, addressing all his fellow band members. “ _ Or _ practice makes perfect. The preliminary is in three weeks. I wanna try out a few tunes and see what flies, and Jo said she’d let us play a set here Sunday night.”

Wayne huffed back. “No, I have dinner with my family every Sunday.”

“It’ll be after dinner.”

“I don’t go out late on Sundays.”

Donny’s patience was running thinner by the second.

“Make it another night,” Davy suggested.

“No!” Donny shouted, slamming a hand on the table in front of him. “We’re booked here for a set on Sunday at nine. That’s the deal.”

Wayne looked at the pianist like he was ticking time bomb. “In the future, I need more notice, I need a schedule. I got a wife and kids and security shifts.

“This was your only freebie, Private.” Wayne continued. “Every gig I play is time away from my research, so it’d better be a good one.”

“Alright, I’ll make sure we get something,” Donny muttered, already distracted by something else.

“Sunday.” Wayne prompted, and Donny nodded. 

“Sunday.”

“What day of the week is Sunday?” Johnny asked as Wayne left. Donny stared at him. 

“It’s... _ Sunday _ .”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’m not doin’ anything then. Say, anyone need a buddy to walk home with?”

“Swing by the Rio?” Davy asked, and Johnny agreed.

Jimmy approached Donny, rubbing at his temples. “If you want to be a good bandleader, you’d better learn how to talk to people.”

Donny sighed. “So now you’re piling on too?”

Jimmy sighed as well. “I was at Riverside Methodist, the dead bust through and suddenly I’m fleeing from my dead friends and patients. I play to forget that shit, not relive it.”

Donny scoffed. “So you’re saying my band’s a disaster zone?”

Jimmy threw up his hands and started packing. “Just forget it. I have too many responsibilities right now, find another sax player.”

Donny relented. “Wait. Rubber said you were good enough to come to New York with us, you really gonna throw it all away?”

Jimmy sighed. “That’s kind, but I barely remember the guy.”

“He was my best buddy in the Seventy-third. We talked about starting a band after it all blew over, hitting it big in New York. And he made me promise to find his wife and look after if anything happened to him. So…

“So…?”

“So I’m an asshole ‘cause I’ve been asking around for her but I can’t bring myself to follow through on his request. She’ll wanna know what happened.”

“How bad was it?” Jimmy asked softly.

“Bad.” Then “I thought he was behind me.” 

“Oh, Jesus. Don’t tell her. Make sure she’s okay, you owe him that, but—here’s some free advice: Don’t go to trial unless you’re prepared to lose. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Donny watched him go.

* * *

The next day Donny stood at the Trojan residence, heart hammering in his chest as he knocked. He waited, and no response came, so he stalked off, muttering to himself. 

From inside the apartment, Julia Trojan approached the door, an exasperated scowl on her face. She was a pretty, slender woman, with soft brown curls that were currently swept up into a messy bun. Julia donned a plum sweater, jeans, and a flour-spotted apron. She swung the door open and her scowl deepened upon finding no-one at the door. She looked around, spotted Donny, and sighed. 

“Hey, what’s the big idea!” She yelled out.

From the end of the road, Donny froze and whipped around, sheepishly approaching the woman.

“Aren’t you a little old to play Ding Dong Ditch?” Julia asked.

“You’re Julia.” Is all Donny said. 

“Do I know you?”

“No, I, uh, recognize you from your picture.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Well, I hope there’s no picture of me looking like this.”

“I’m Donny Novitski. I was a buddy of Michael’s in the Seventy-third—” He stopped when he heard a voice from inside.

Julia stared at the man in front of her. “It’s a friend of Michael’s, Ma.” She called to the voice.

Donny stared back. “I would’ve warned you first, but I didn’t know where to find you.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Julia apologized. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess, I was baking a cake for church.”

Donny started to leave. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother,” Julia called, stopping him. “He...mentioned you a lot, in his calls and letters. How’d you find me?”

“Al gave me your address.”

“And you're supposed to check in on me.” Julia supplied as Donny opened his mouth. “That’s why you’re here and Michael isn’t.”

Donny froze, giving Julia the deer in the headlights look. “I’m just really sorry—”

“I know, Donny. It’s alright. I’m getting along.”

“I—I have pictures, and stories, from our time in the Guard.”

Julia stared at him once more. “You do?”

“I, I didn’t think to bring them. Maybe you’d like to see them sometime?”

“Sure.” She replied softly.

“I can come back—” But Julia cut him off. “You can come for dinner.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to impose.”

“How about Thursday? Say, five-thirty?”

He nodded, slightly. “Sure, if you are.”

She smiled slightly. “Yes, I am. See you then.”

Donny Novitski walked away, and Julia Trojan shut the door, alone with just her mother and her memories. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long break. I had to work on other things. Fair warning, the next chapters might read differently because I'm trying to figure out the best tense to write in. Hope ya'll enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is the tour cast.


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